Peter Lilly: Poems

What is it that unifies us? For the boiling bad blood of heated boarders has polluted all the air inside the firmament-sky, and false belonging spits at empathy as personhood is domestically defined. What is it that brings us together? For self-perpetuating open wounds are blinding and searing any concept of an 'us' and reactions chase reactions chase reactions chase reactions chase reactions. What is it that brings us together from this hopeless hate? The most hurt party not only abandoned vengeance but mirrored it onto Himself, and demonstrates frail victory that looks like failure to us, unless we abandon vengeance in an embrace that crosses every dimension of this sickne ss. This is what brings us together: A divine reconciliation stained in the blood of hurt, and risen in the germinating promise of immeasurable change. Written 22/02/12 2 Corinthians 5:18-21 'All this is from God, who reconc...

Skin chases skin alone and stretches itself until it dulls every window, pouring restlessness into home. Skin knows its pours are suffocating and draws its own ink to display fading ideas as permanent tracing these tattoos, hallucinating. Skin licks mirror's cold and clouds wet circles, yet at it's most lucid it realises it's own translucence thus, realises its potential for skin is part, not purpose. Written late in January 2012

So the rungs of your ladder  became blades. But you would never chase your fingerprints as they fall, and a rumour of identity will lie on the blood-stained birthing floor, along with your name and your first pair of tiny shoes. All waiting for the teeth of scavengers. The metallic surface up here has been weathered rough like your face you have forgotten; another discarded picture, ruined by blind obsession. The wind from above whispers only despair as the portraits on currency are merely official black-ink-pop-art. Those notes of paper  take up no space, they communicate nothing, but  flitter a mocking snicker in the blustering; worthless as leaves. Echoes screech for answers in the frustrated perpetual motion of a monologue that wishes for conversation, because all your companion s took their own tributaries and disappeared in distance. With hindsight we can see that they took with them all the scraps of meaning...